


Lying in the Heather

by SerenityStargazer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Battle of Stirling Bridge, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Kilts, M/M, Picnics, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scotland, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityStargazer/pseuds/SerenityStargazer
Summary: After the terrible Battle of Stirling Bridge in Scotland, Crowley takes Aziraphale on a picnic to comfort him.





	Lying in the Heather

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to my friend, Heather Frohock, on the Ineffable Husbands Facebook page because it was her birthday. Happy Birthday, Heather! May all your wishes come true!

Aziraphale gazed wearily around the vacant battlefield. He and the other few healers had spent the last two days repairing the wounds of the injured and saying last rites over the fallen. He had done his best to send them peacefully onward. The wounds from the axes and claymores and pikes were horrific, and many who had survived the actual battle had died later from blood loss, trama, or infection. He wished he could have done more, but Heaven had charged him with strengthening William Wallace’s resolve, holding him strong till the last moment. To the surprise of the English troops, the small force had laid down their weapons and picked up long wooden pikes, impaling the calvary’s horses and forcing them into an unexpected hand-to-hand battle. The ploy had worked and Wallace and his Scottish band had defeated the English troops, despite being outnumbered and out-weaponed.

But Aziraphale was not allowed by the archangels to do any healing miracles at the battle, being charged to stick to medical practices of the times, which in 1297 was not saying a lot. He snuck in small blessings where he could, but the aftermath had left him wounded and bleeding in his soul, grieving for what he could not change. His tan and blue tartan kilt was dark with blood and memories that would never wash out. He ran his broad hands through his pale blond curls and searched again for any signs of life. Looking across the river, a familiar figure brought a small smile to his face.

A quick snap took him across the river to stand by the tall red-haired man. His white billowy shirt was marred with mud and blood, but still he stood proud in the hazy morning light. His black and red kilt swayed in the cool breeze and was fastened at his shoulder with a serpent pin shaped from silver. His hair was long again and the breeze picked up the long curls and danced them across his back and shoulders.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” he said softly. “Heaven sent you to not help again?”

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “I did what I could after doing what I was sent to do. Spurring souls on to their deaths, were you?”

“Nah,” said the demon, looking a bit hurt, “no sense in that. Humans will do that all on their own. And they can’t do much sinning once they’re dead. No, I was here to remind Wallace how nice it would be if he were king of all Scotland. Motivate him and all. Step him up on the pride factor.”

“Poor man. Having both Sides influencing him at the same time. Nothing good will come of it, I’m sure,” the blond angel fretted, wringing his hands and glancing at his friend. He looked like he belonged there...a grand Highland warrior, marching to the keening of bagpipes and steady beat of the drums. He spoke without thinking. “That kilt does work for you, Crowley. Very striking.” Aziraphale’s ears pinked a bit and he studied the ground.

“Yes, well...I do like the colors. The freedom is rather nice, too. Reminds me of Rome and the togas. Not all those buttons and laces and undergarments to mess with.” There was a silence as the demon appeared to be considering something, not sure if he should come out with it or not. Apparently, the yays had it.

“Care for a bite of lunch, Angel?” he offered. “I have a bit of a picnic kip and was planning on going up north for some quiet this afternoon. The heather is still blooming and I’m tired of Stirling and the battle field. Come with me?” He didn’t look at the angel, expecting to be rejected. They were officially enemies, after all. But Aziraphale didn’t feel like an enemy. The two had been watching and influencing humans for thousands of years now and an uneasy friendship had grown between them. Truth be told, Crowley felt a lot more than friendship for the fussy, kind angel. But he was a demon, so the truth would definitely NOT be told.

Aziraphale looked back over the field to the castle. His work here was done. He really could use some time away to clear his head. His side wouldn’t like him having lunch with the demon, though. Of course, he wasn’t too happy with what his side considered a good idea at the moment. He wouldn’t have to mention having lunch with Crowley...just that he got away for some meditation and peace.

“That would be delightful, dear boy. I’ve never seen the heather in bloom and I am quite done with this place!” With a determined face, Aziraphale tucked his hand into the crook of Crowley’s arm and waited expectantly.

A pleased smile crossed Crowley’s face, but vanished in an instant. “Sure, Angel,” he said nonchalantly, “Let’s go.” 

____________________

With a snap, they were far from Stirling. They stood on a hillside covered in a blanket of delicately fragranced purple, pink and white heather swaying in the breeze. A small creek burbled along the bottom of the valley and there was a hardy tree branching nearby. Soft white clouds drifted lazily in the sky, pushed by the light breeze.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s lovely! Thank you for inviting me here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I plan to get in some serious gluttony and sloth temptation here, Angel.” His words were gruff, but a slight smile showed he was pleased. He spread a blanket under the tree and opened the basket. There was fresh bread and butter sprinkled with sea salt, tangy sharp cheddar cheese, meat pies, and pears for the angel and whiskey for them both. When Aziraphale declared he couldn’t eat another bite, Crowley grinned and pulled out a large slice of chocolate cake. “I was serious about tempting you, Angel. Sure you don’t want just a taste? Just a nibble?”

The whiskey and the breeze and the company had taken its toll on Aziraphale’s self-control, and to his own surprise, he teased back. “Hmmm, my dear. Are we talking about cake or...other delicacies?” And he gave Crowley a long, slow look over. To his delight, the demon actually blushed!

But then Crowley put the cake aside and scooted over until he was sitting very close behind Aziraphale. “Good thinking, Angel,” he breathed softly into his ear. “A taste would be nice.” And he pushed Aziraphale’s head to the side and slowly licked up his neck to his jaw. The angel moaned softly and quickly covered his mouth. “Of course, nibbles are very yummy, too.” He sucked the angel’s earlobe in to his mouth and gently ran his teeth over it. Aziraphale shuddered, but didn’t pull away.

“Crowley?” he asked, leaning back to rest his head on the demon’s chest, “have you ever...kissed anyone? A human, I mean. They always seem to enjoy it so. I’ve often wondered how it would feel.”

“Kissed a human? Well, I am a Tempter, you know,” the demon didn’t really want to answer the question, but danced around it quite nicely. “I don’t think it’s really all that great unless you care for the person you’re kissing, though. And it’s hard to care for a human. Not long-term. They come and go so quickly.”

Aziraphale thought about that for a minute, then turned his head up to look at Crowley. “Well,” he said, “I care about you. You’re my best friend.” And he patted Crowley’s leg. “What about if you kissed me? I think it would be nice. And then I would know.”

Crowley swallowed and his mind spun dizzily. Of course he would like to kiss Aziraphale. He had spent many nights and days thinking about just that. How it would happen. How the angel would taste. Would it lead to more than kisses? It was, in fact, his favorite daydream. That wasn’t the problem.

But Aziraphale usually drank wine, not whiskey. He probably never would have asked if he wasn’t so drunk. Kicking himself mentally, Crowley said, “I would like that, Angel. But one thing first. I think you need to sober up a bit. You’re a bit sloshy. It would be a shame for you not to remember your first kiss. If you still want to after you lose some of the alcohol, then we will.”

“Awww,” Aziraphale pouted. How could a grown angel look so damned adorable when he pouts, Crowley wondered. Then the angel concentrated, the bottle filled half way up, and Aziraphale made a horrid face.

“Alright,” he said. “Sober enough for you?”

“Good, Angel,” Crowley said gently. “Now do you still want that kiss? From me?”

Aziraphale sat up and twisted around to face the demon. “If you don’t mind, dear. I really would like to try it. And I meant it when I said I cared for you. I know we’re supposed to be enemies, but...I rather think neither of us really fit into the expectations of our Sides.”

“True enough. But wouldn’t your Side be terribly upset if they found out you’ve been kissing a demon? Send you a strongly worded note or something?”

“Well then, we’ll have to make sure they don’t find out,” the angel said with a gleam of rebellion in his eye. “Obviously.”

Crowley laughed, then moved even closer to Aziraphale. His golden eyes watched the river blue ones for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was curiosity and maybe...a little heat of desire? He wrapped his long arm around the angel’s broad shoulder and drew him in, cupping his cheek with his other hand, stoking the soft, pale skin. Aziraphale blushed a bit, turning the skin pink beneath his hand. He tilted his head up with a sigh and closed his eyes. Crowley gently kissed his soft pink lips, keeping it tender. Aziraphale sighed again and the demon deepened the kiss, licking across the angel’s bottom lip. Aziraphale moaned and put his hand on Crowley’s neck, pulling him in fiercely. The angel sank back onto the blanket, bringing Crowley down with him. Their tongues danced together as their breathing sped up and they swallowed each others' noises. Crowley was happier than he could remember...ever. If it were up to him, he’d spend the rest of his life kissing Aziraphale under the tree on this lovely, perfect hillside.

But kisses are wild and rarely stay behaved. Before long, the kisses left them yearning, desiring...more. Aziraphale’s hands started to stray lower and lower on Crowley’s back, intent on a destination dimly recognized by the angel. Crowley rolled off Aziraphale and lied on his side, mussed-hair head propped on his hand. The angel made little sounds of protests and tried to pull Crowley back. Crowley smiled sadly and stroked the round cheek, flushed with kisses and wanting.

“Can’t do more, Angel,” he said. “If we continue, I would never be able to leave you again. It will be hard enough now. Now that I’ve tasted you and felt you and smelled you and heard all your small sounds.”

“But I don’t want to stop, Crowley,” the angel pleaded. “I want more. And more and more! I want to fill myself with you. Today has been...I’d say Heaven, but we both know this is better than there. I’m tired of not being able to help and bless. To be told to just stand by and let them die. I cannot believe that is what She really wants. I refuse to believe it!” Aziraphale turned away and covered his face, trying to reign in the tears that threatened to fall.

Crowley looked out over the field of heather and leaned over to pick a spear, whiter than the curls rioting on Aziraphale’s head. “There’s a story I heard about the heather, you know,” he said. “Long ago, the daughter of a bard loved a mighty warrior. She worried about him going into battle, and rightly so. Her young man was struck down, far from home. As he lay dying, he picked some heather and sent it with a messenger to tell her he would love her always and beyond. When she received the news and the flowers, she cried and her tears washed the color from the blooms, leaving them white as snow. From that time on, white heather has been used for protection. It’s also said to grant the bearer’s wish.”

“Here, Aziraphale. Roll back over.” The angel, soothed by the tale, rolled onto his back and looked up at Crowley. The demon held out his hand with the white heather stalk. Aziraphale covered his hand so they both were holding it together.

“I wish,” said Crowley softly, “that someday in the future we may kiss and be together without fear for either of our Sides.” The demon tucked the flower into Aziraphale’s shoulder pin of angel wings. He wiggled his fingers at it. “There,” he said. “That will keep it fresh for you.”

Aziraphale looked around, seeking another white stalk and plucked it. He held it out and Crowley covered his hand. “I wish,” he said, “that our hearts will remain solid and true, despite all Heaven and Hell raging against us, until we can stand completely on Our Side only.” And then the silver serpent on Crowley’s shoulder had its own blooms of white, miracled never to wither.

They sat and watched the sun set, holding hands and leaning against each other.

“Do you think we’ll ever really be free from our Sides, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Do you want the truth, Angel?”

“No. Lie to me, please,” came the plea for comfort.

“Of course we will, Angel. The Head Offices will see that humanity isn’t worth going to war over and that it would be best just to leave the two of us as their eyes and ears, reporting back occasionally, but left alone and ignored for the most part. We’ll find a place to share together, you and I. You will be surrounded by your books and we’ll get drunk every evening and share stories and kisses. There will be...more. All the more our hearts desire. And She will smile on us because it will be good.”

They sat in silence, both imagining that kind of a future and wishing it could be true.

“Where will you be off to next, Angel?” Crowley asked, staring into the deepening dusk.

“I guess I’ll head back to London until I get another Assignment,” replied the angel, stealing side glances at the rakish demon, memorizing his features for the long, cold winter nights ahead that he would face alone. “I have a small cottage with my growing book collection. And I’m tutoring several young men in Latin. What about you, my dear? Where will you be heading?”

“Wherever the wind blows, Angel. Hopefully someplace sunny and warm for the winter. Maybe Italy. I like Italy.”

“Italy for the winter does sound lovely,” Aziraphale said wistfully.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Angel. Always nice to have a worthy adversary to tempt.”

Crowley felt a soft kiss on his cheek, but didn’t turn his head. “It was a wicked temptation, kissing an angel into distraction, keeping him from his heavenly duties. You are a very, very BAD demon!”

“You say the sweetest things,” the demon chuckled. “Take care of yourself, Angel.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand one last time and, with a snap, the picnic, blanket and demon were all gone.

Aziraphale sat looking up at the sky as the stars filled the inky black. The air grew chilly and he shivered in the cooling heather. Reluctantly he stood and miracled himself back to his cottage. He snapped the fire back to life and looked through his stacks for something to read. Before he changed back to breeches and tunic, he removed the golden wings and the sprig of heather. He inhaled its delicate aroma and touched his fingers to lips, remembering how they burned under Crowley’s touch that afternoon. He put the sprig in a small bottle and set it on the mantle. Heaven could scold, but they couldn’t take his memories or feelings. As long as he kept them locked safely away, that was. He touched the heather and remembered Crowley’s wish. Perhaps. Someday. Maybe there would be a way. He sighed and sat down, opening the book and carefully locking up his heart. 

  
  
  



End file.
